Three Is A Lucky Number
by CupCakeyyy
Summary: The 'Third Anniversary of Harry Potter's Triumph' isn't as bad as the second one was... At least for Harry and Draco. SLASH


Aha, here it is; the last story before the finals start. This round was all about pairings.

Pairing: Harry/Draco

_Prompts:_

_5\. (quote) „I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living." – Dr. Seuss_

_8\. (word) happily_

Enjoy reading!

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**Three Is A Lucky Number**

Harry Potter scowled at the large banner hanging above the festively decorated ball room in a rarely used part of the Ministry of Magic. People had told him that this part used to be where balls and festivities were being held, long before he was even born. Now the words 'Third Anniversary of Harry Potter's Triumph' labelled the room Harry had no desire whatsoever to enter.

Laughing people were mingling in the dome-like room, chatting to one another and overall waiting for the person of the evening to arrive. Said person stood in the shadows at the entrance and refused to set a foot in that nightmare of a party.

He scowled even more as he remembered the last two anniversaries where people couldn't stop congratulating and thanking him for saving their world and killing the evil Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry snorted. It had been three years ago now that he had become a murderer in that night. And all those rich and famous wizards and witches could think about was their gain on him; the _Hero of the Wizarding World, _the _Boy-Who-Lived-And-Conquered, _the _Man-Who-Triumphed_, or whatever it was they were calling him now. He had lost count after the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Conquered thing…

Hearing the people laugh and chat happily without a care or regret in their minds was disgusting. All Harry could think of when he thought of that night three years ago was how many lives had been ended brutally or destroyed completely, only because of one insane monster, who couldn't understand that there was more in life than power, fear and immortality.

He had lost his whole family due to that maniac and had watched others lose their lives right before his eyes – whether that had been because of the Killing Curse or because of their parents' believes and their own unbelievably huge fear.

His thoughts wandered to non-other than Draco Malfoy. After the war, Harry had focused all his power onto the trial of one white-blond wizard, who was trying to avert a future 'life' in Azkaban. Being the son of two Death Eaters that used to be in Voldemort's inner circle, bearing the Mark himself and having a history of dark activities under the name of the Dark Lord had not exactly been positive for him and Harry had known that. He had been the only one that had seen the other side of the dark boy – he had seen the fear in those silver eyes, the worry in the lines on his alabaster skin and the uncertainty in the posture of his lithe body.

He sighed as he saw Hermione and Ron Weasley hurry towards him. Ron was fidgeting with his collar, Hermione tried to withstand the reflex to roll her eyes. It didn't look really attractive if one did such a childish thing while wearing expensive dressing gowns and attending a victory party that was being held for their friend.

"Would you stop that already?" She huffed as Ron tugged at his sleeve, wincing ever so slightly. "What is wrong with you?"

Harry tried to hide his smirk as Ron scratched his lower back. "I think George put some Tickling Solution into my robes," he grumbled as he reached up to scratch his shoulder. "Damn it! Harry, could you help a man out?"

Harry snickered as Hermione gaped at her husband, who shuffled forward and pointed at his back. "Sure," Harry scratched his friend's back just between the shoulder blades, getting a satisfied groan from the red-haired wizard.

"Ron!" Hermione cried out indignantly and pulled him away from a now laughing Harry. "Behave yourself, damn it!"

"What?" He hissed back as he nodded to Harry in thanks. "It's itching like hell, 'Mione! I can't help it."

"That doesn't mean you have to do that in public," the rest of her retort was interrupted by a loud shrill sound, catching the attention of everyone in the ball room and the three reluctant heroes just outside the door.

A high female voice cleared her throat and took a deep breath. "May I welcome the persons of the night; Mr and Mrs Ronald and Hermione Weasley, accompanied by non-other than Mr Harry Potter himself!"

Hermione choked as a roar of applause and whistles greeted them and forced them to enter the overly decorated room full of eager wizards and witches, who eyed them with both pride and awe. Harry put on a bright – but fake – smile as he dragged a dumbstruck Hermione and an itching Ron through the masses towards the podium, where a young witch stood, beaming down at them. She reached out with her hand as Harry and his two friends set a foot on the stairs leading onto the podium and immediately pulled Harry onto the stage, positioning herself right next to him and batting her eyelashes at him flirtatiously.

Harry smiled awkwardly and tried to scoot away from the overenthusiastic blond witch at his side. "Thank you," he said into the microphone and the next ten minutes were spend with trying to convince the audience that he enjoyed the party just as much as he was supposed to, always in constant danger of getting out of reach of the microphone, as the blonde lady beside him made it a very uncomfortable habit of sticking to his body like a second skin. _Let the fun begin._

* * *

He gulped down his third firewhiskey in one go, grimacing slightly as the liquid burned down his throat. He hastily turned around as two women went past him, saying something about wanting a photograph with and an autograph from the hero. He gulped and raised his whiskey glass towards his lips, only to notice that it was empty. He glanced over his shoulder towards the bar, loaded with bottles of white wine, red wine, sparkling wine, whiskey, firewhiskey, butterbeer and for some odd reason bananas.

Just as he decided that he was desperate enough to get another drink, a voice inside his head, sounding suspiciously like Hermione, began scolding him. _Don't drink too much of that stuff, Harry, or did you forget what happened last time?_

Harry sighed and put his hand against his forehead dejectedly. He had just been reprimanded by his own traitorous mind. And no, he hadn't forgotten that disaster that people, probably the same ones that were currently trying to hunt him down at this very moment, called 'Second Anniversary of Harry Potter's Triumph'. That evening had ended with Harry being to tipsy to apparate properly and had ended up with one foot in his toilet rather than with both feet in the entrance hall of his house.

Shaking his head, he scowled inwardly at his own Hermione-like mind and strolled purposefully over to the bar, trying to decide which whiskey he should try next.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was never more aggravated than during those official festivities where he was just being invited to due to one handsome wizard going by the name of Harry James Potter.

The tousle-haired wizard had made it a habit to tell everyone he met that Draco had changed and wasn't to be hold responsible for his parents' actions. Upon the reply that _that Draco Malfoy boy _had indeed been a Death Eater himself, bearing the Mark and all, he had merely said that the consequences of not acting after his parents' wish would have been even worse. Since Draco had never actually killed anybody, and had only tortured people while at the wrong end of Voldemort's wand, he was not to be called responsible for his actions during the war. Having saved the Golden Boy's life certainly helped with that request, which Harry had mentioned more than once.

But seeing the wizards and witches of the British community glaring at him and whispering behind his back didn't help his nerves. His fingers clutched desperately at the glass in his hands, the golden brown liquid inside spilled over the rim, wetting his trembling fingers.

Being out in the open for everyone to stare at and insult did not feel right while being alone. He wanted, no, _needed_ his usual companion at his side. He needed the charming, handsome young wizard at his side; let himself be calmed by the soothing sound of his soft voice and the warm touches of his big hands on his shoulder, arm or back.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly as he saw a man drag his woman away from him, glancing over his shoulder as if Draco might attack them any second. He sighed and downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass. He rolled his shoulders and looked around. He had to be here _somewhere_. This party was being held in honour of him; it was impossible, if not disrespectful of him if he would have just stayed at home. _Just like I should have done,_ he thought grimly and decided that until he had found his favourite rock to hang onto, he could as well down all of his sorrow with some expensive alcohol, and made towards the bar in search of something that would make him feel numb to all those glares and hisses.

* * *

"Mr Potter, there you are. I've been looking for you everywhere," Harry whirled around and stared into the plain face of the blonde woman he had 'met' while on stage. She raised a very thin and unnatural looking eyebrow and eyed the bottle of whiskey in Harry's hand.

He laughed awkwardly and put it back down. Clearing his throat, he tried to smile pleasantly at the annoying woman. "Well, I guess you've found me," he chuckled weakly and gulped as the woman started laughing hysterically. It reminded him painfully of Aunt Petunia's laugh when Uncle Vernon's boss and his wife had been over for dinner.

"Why, aren't you a cheeky one," she giggled and hit him against the arm playfully.

Harry's smile wobbled slightly as he studied the small hand on his biceps. He managed to hide the scowl that was sneaking its way onto his face. The small hand tightened its grip and the appraising look on the woman's face told him that she wasn't just checking him out merely by looks. _Oh Merlin, help me._

"I don't think we've been introduced yet," he said and jerked his arm forward, successfully getting rid of the way too small and way too hot hand on it. "Harry Potter. Pleasure to meet you." _I think I have to vomit._

The woman beamed at him and batted her eyelashes. "Emily Ackland," she grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers immediately. Harry blushed. Her smile widened. He gulped.

"Potter?"

Harry looked over his shoulder and sighed with relief as he saw non-other than Draco Malfoy walk towards them, an empty glass in his hand and looking adorably confused. Harry's blush deepened as he noticed that Emily Ackland's hand was still clutching his like it was some kind of extra slippery fish that needed to be contained.

"Malfoy," he said and wiggled his hand out of the woman's grip. "I was looking for you."

"Really?" He raised an elegant eyebrow and studied Ackland suspiciously. "And who are you if I may ask?" The animosity in his voice was difficult to ignore.

The blond witch seemed to think along those lines as well, as she glared at Harry's saviour. "Well, _I_ don't have to ask who _you_ are," she smirked at the handsome wizard, who now stood between Harry and Ackland, shielding him successfully from her clutches of doom.

Draco scowled. "Oh, really?" The sarcasm that dripped from those two words made Harry snicker softly behind him. He fought the smile that wanted to show itself.

"Yes, really," she answered deridingly. "You're a Death Eater and have no business anywhere near Harry Potter or this party. We're here to honour those who died at _your hand."_

Behind him, Harry huffed. He didn't like this whole scenario either, then. Draco smirked. "This whole thing," he gestured wildly with his hands, "is to honour those who lost their lives during the war?" He started laughing loudly as Ackland looked ready to murder him. "You can't be serious!"

"I wouldn't expect a Death Eater to understand the word 'honour'," she retorted spitefully.

"He isn't a Death Eater," Draco turned around and saw a livid Harry, who had effort to put his glass down slowly, as to not smash it on the table. "He was cleared of all charges," well, that wasn't exactly true, but that witch didn't need to know the minor verdicts anyway. Who was she to interfere with their business anyway?

"So, you are on his side, then? Do you believe all of this nonsense that is coming out of his mouth about all that Death Eater stuff?" Her eyes flashed as she rounded up on Harry.

Harry smiled innocently. "I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living. Especially with all the shit that's been going on lately."

She gaped at him indignantly, huffed, ripped the glass out of Draco's hand, smashed it on the floor and stormed off.

Draco blinked after her, clearly confused as to what had just happened. "Um, are you drunk, Potter?"

"No, not that I know of," Harry snickered as he watched the furious witch march away. "Oh, no."

Bemused, Draco only managed to gasp as Harry took hold of his hand and dragged him away from the table with the alcohol on it. "Potter, what do you think you're doing?"

"Getting the hell out of here," he replied, glancing over his shoulder and fastening his pace. He turned around a corner and let himself fall onto the nearest bench. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbled as Draco blinked at him owlishly. "Skeeter was on her way towards us and I don't have the nerve to deal with her just now."

Draco winced as he thought what could have happened if she had seen them both together. "Exactly," Potter nodded and sighed, as he looked down at his hands and thus gave Draco a good opportunity to really look at him.

It had been a while since he had seen the saviour, but he hadn't changed much. His hair was slightly longer, but still just as messy as it used to be. Draco's hand twitched as he studied the soft texture of the black hair, pointing this and that direction. He smiled softly as his gaze travelled down his neck, over his strong, broad shoulders, over his muscled arms… He swallowed as the familiar tingling feeling shot through his stomach and into his veins, warming his body within seconds. Harry's, no, _Potter's_ hands were fidgeting, but Draco could only stare at the long, somewhat elegant looking digits that he would give everything he had if he could just touch them once… along with that amazing hair and those muscular arms and this mouth-watering neck…

Harry clutched his fingers together and tried to think of a way to say what he had wanted to say for the last few weeks now. Ever since that one meeting in Diagon Alley where he had seen Draco wander through the shops and had come to chat with him, he had wanted to tell him that there was something different in him. He… he wasn't even sure what it was, but he somehow knew that it would all be alright if he'd just confide in Draco. He swallowed and summoned his courage. They were alone, away from all those glances and, in Draco's case, glares and nobody would interrupt them.

_Unless Ron needs someone to scratch his back again_, he thought, amused.

He looked up and saw Draco stare at his arms with a weird expression on his face. Harry frowned. "Hey, you alright?" He asked softly, successfully pulling Draco out of his reveries.

"What? Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course I'm alright," Draco huffed and turned his head sideways to hide his adorable blush. Harry's stomach made a somersault.

Harry watched a pack of witches move past them, glancing over their shoulders and giggling, some were even winking at Harry. He winced.

Draco smirked as he saw this. "What? Is famous Potter not enjoying the attention he's getting from the ladies?" He laughed haughtily, wincing inwardly as he hoped to hear a negative answer from the dream-guy next to him. Every mother would love to call him their son-in-law. _Except for mine, but who cares what that bitch wants anyway_.

Harry eyed him warily as Draco's laugh subsided slowly. "Why are you doing this?" He asked softly as Draco's false chuckles stopped.

He stared at his former enemy. "What do you mean?"

"This whole I'm-untouchable-and-emotionless-thing you have going on since I know you. Why are you doing this?"

Draco was taken aback and gaped at the black-haired wizard, who had a cute frown on his face. Those brilliant green eyes bore into his silver ones, giving him the feeling of being read like an open book. He blinked. He didn't know, did he? He gulped. He hoped not. He didn't want the world to know that he wasn't that bad of a guy. Well, maybe he did, but he didn't want to be seen with the man of his dreams like this, talking civilly and probably destroying Harry's popularity in the wizarding world just because he didn't hate the _former Death Eater._

"I don't know what you are talking about," his voice was a mere whisper. He didn't bother trying to overplay this faux-pas. I could see it in Harry's eyes…

"I know you're not a bad guy, Draco," Harry mumbled. Draco, being the love-struck idiot that he was, was too busy relishing the sound of his own name as it rolled over Harry's tongue to notice when Harry gently took his hands in his, stroking his palms ever so softly. When he did notice, he blushed deeply, causing Harry to chuckle.

"I'm sorry that those people treat you like a criminal," he muttered as he looked into Draco's light eyes, searching for any sign that might tell him he was moving too fast; he didn't find it.

"Well, they're right, aren't they?" Draco sniffed and gazed down at their intertwined hands, a soft smile crept onto his young face. "I _am _a Death Eater after all."

"You _were_ a Death Eater," Harry stressed and put a finger under Draco's chin to force him to look him in the eye, causing the blond wizard to shiver pleasantly. "Past tense. And it wasn't like it was your decision, right?"

Draco's heartbeat was so fast that he feared it would jump right out of his rib cage any second now. He swallowed as he looked into those beautiful eyes that led him through every one of his dreams. "No, it wasn't," he whispered as if in trance. His eyes wandered down to Harry's lips. They looked so soft and sweet…

He was incapable of saying anything else. He wanted to tell him so much! He wanted him to know how he was feeling right now, how he had felt that night when he had saved him from the feintfire, wanted to tell him how relieved and happy he had been when he found out that it had been _him_ that had survived and not Voldemort. He wanted to tell him so much, but all he could do was stare at those beautiful lips and those brilliant eyes…

Harry kept talking and talking. He had stopped listening a while ago. The bright green of his eyes kept glancing down, the lids lowered, the pupils widened… And that was when he felt them; those beautifully soft lips on his own.

He sighed as he closed his eyes. He was in heaven.

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**I hope you liked it! Please leave a comment! I absolutely love reading and answering them!**

**See ya!**

**Word count: 3300 **(haha I managed to stay within the acceptable amount of words xD)


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